Comfort
by GodlyRottenAppleJuice
Summary: America hates being comforted, and he wonders why. Drabble.


Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia, or its characters.

**A/N:**I highly doubt this story will make **any sense**. I think it makes sense, but how I perceive things and how I think things through are a bit different than I thought. That, and I'm insecure, so ;D Anyways, I had a hard time typing this because my room was as cold as the ninth layer of hell. .=. but anyways, I hope you guys like the story all in all.

Enjoy, mi amors~

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_The room was dark; the house seemed to rattle with thunder and rain. Lightening cackled outside, terrifying the young America who lay huddled under the covers of his bed. Soft whimpers filled the room, the young America's eyes filled with tears. His whimpering increased as the thunder seemed to knock right outside his window. At last, the young America let out a yell as a cackle of light and thunder made his small heart jolt…_

America, older and more in the present, sat up in his bed. Breathing heavily, his cheeks tinted red; he comforted himself with the small chant of "Nothing but a dream, nothing but a dream…" He repeated the words over and over, his eyes being covered by the palms of his hands.

It wasn't a dream; it was more of a pushed back memory that was to rot in the dark recesses of America's mind. It was like he was really that young boy again, where he lay under blankets too scared to move. It disturbed him on how storms scared him senseless back then. But back then, everything seemed _too_ much of one thing. _Too_ scary, _too_ joyful, _too_ painful, the list goes on and on. America guessed in the eyes of a child, everything seems bigger than what they seem.

As he lay back down, trying to soothe his nerves in order to sleep again, America wondered what happened for the rest of that night. It was like trying to reach arm deep into some black, murky, thick water in order to get something. At last, America gave up due to thickening sleepiness and a headache that was starting to appear.

The need to be comforted when scared, it seemed to blur in with the rest of the useless needs America ignored. Still, the craving and longing to be comforted was still there, no matter how long America ignored it. Instead, America comforted himself by hugging a pillow and telling himself small lies that seemed like he was forcing himself to believe.

Now that he was an _Independent_ nation, he didn't need to be taken care of. He could take care of himself, or at least that's what he believed and told himself. America fought so hard for his and his people's freedom, he was scared that if he allowed _at least one_ nation to comfort him, or help him, they would destroy whatever he had worked so hard to achieve.

So he passed up chances to be comforted, for that was to let his fear be faced. America felt himself frown into the darkness. He remembered the times when England used to comfort him; he used to run into his room when he was younger the moment the storm started.

So is that why he couldn't remember the rest of that earlier memory? England wasn't there to comfort him, and America clenched his eyes tight. _I thought you promised to protect me…_America remembered that one thought from that night now. Exhausted from thinking, America decided to let all his worries drop.

America had been fine so far in his life, he shouldn't brood over the past. If nothing is broke, why fix it? A strained, yet strangely content smile drifted onto his lips, as sleep carried him away. As he let the warm thick blankets of sleep mist around him, a sigh leaving his mouth open, America wondered one last fleeting thought:  
Why did he have to be so stubborn?

_The young America sobbed himself into exhaustion, his face not peaceful as he threw a fit in his sleep. His blankets were on the floor. England had left the door open from the hallway, eying America. A soft smile was on his lips. It wasn't much progress (hardly any) but America would learn how to comfort himself over time. Striding over to the bed, England picked up the discarded blanket and replaced it on the sleeping boy. England said a silent 'goodnight' before exiting the room to finish packing for his voyage back home tomorrow. _

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_Review, Favorite, or whatever you do on stories that you read._

_-_BMTM


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